An Empire Will Fall (POI x Empire Crossover)
by carolinagirl919
Summary: The Machine has given Team Machine new identities to protect them from Samaritan's ever watchful eye and keep them from the dangerous reach of Greer and Decima. John's new identity has led him to Chicago to live life as a basketball coach, but with the early release of a former drug dealer, John has to find a way to save a new number.
1. Chapter 1

**02/27/2015 Updated Author's note: This story is seriously AU. Seriously. I started writing this fic back in August 2014 during the summer hiatus of POI, and it was the time when there was a lot of early buzz for Empire. POI was on hiatus and Empire hadn't aired yet. There was little information available other than a few articles and a few promos that were out at the time for either show.**

**Empire is well into it's first season now and POI is well into it's fourth season, so this isn't exactly going to fit the current narrative of either show, but I'm going to try to finish this story all the same. I've done a bit of tweaking here and there from my original first chapter, but this is mainly what I'm sticking with so that I can finish the story I had in mind.**

**So yeah, this story is AU (especially since I have the setting in Chicago where they film Empire although the setting of the show is supposed to be NYC), but hopefully it will still be a fun and enjoyable read for anyone who reads this story. Thanks.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Person of Interest or Empire. This fic is for entertainment purposes only.**

* * *

_Metropolitan Correctional Center- Chicago, IL_

"I told y'all not to bid a blind. But I guess desperate times call for stupid decisions," Cookie said with a grin, holding the winning card in her hand.

"Now why is that partna?" asked Tammy, her spades partner and the first, hell the _only_, friend she had in this awful place. Tammy couldn't hide the grin of her own. She knew they'd won this game because her partner was holding the big joker.

"'Cause these bitches just got set!" Cookie shouted as she slammed the card down on the table.

She and Tammy loudly celebrated their victory with obnoxious peals of laughter while the other two women rolled their eyes. After a bit more trash talking among group, a new game began.

"Cookie Lyon," one of the guards called out.

Cookie turned around, curious about why she was being called out. She hadn't caused any trouble or gotten into any altercations for a while. "What's up, Thomas?"

"The warden wants to see you," he replied in the same stern voice he always used. In all her seventeen years in this hellhole of a prison, she never saw him smile once. He wasn't an easy man to read, not like her estranged husband Lucious Lyon.

"What she want with me?" Cookie asked. She'd had her share of run-ins with the warden and knew the woman hated her.

"Cookie, just come on. I'm not trying to get into it with you today."

"Fine." She tossed the cards on the table and excused herself.

"Stay cool, Cookie. Watch your temper," Tammy advised.

"It's alright, Tam. I'm good."

Cookie followed Thomas to Warden Dean's office and took a seat in one of the chairs. She kept quiet as she sat and waited for the warden to start. Once Thomas left the office, quietly closing the door behind him, she spoke.

"I know you're wondering why you're here." She opened a folder, picked up a form, and handed it to Cookie. "You've been selected for early release."

"Early release? Why? I've served 17 of my 30 year sentence. Every time I've tried for parole, I've been denied. Why now?"

"The FBI needs you for their investigation into Empire Records," Dean started before she was promptly interrupted.

"Hell no! I'm snitching to the Feds," Cookie exclaimed.

Dean smiled as if she knew Cookie would initially refuse. "Then I guess you'll be stuck here for another thirteen years." She placed the paperwork back into the folder and closed it. "I know you want to see your family. Especially your baby boy. Hakeem is his name, if I recall correctly. He hasn't come to visit you once in all the years you've been here has he? Probably hasn't answered any of your letters..." Dean proded, pushing Cookie's buttons.

Cookie didn't reply, but Dean had definitely struck a nerve. She missed her boys like crazy, and she had already missed so many milestones of Andre, Jamal, and Hakeem's lives. Andre, her oldest, hadn't come to visit her in nearly twelve years, too ashamed of his mama. Jamal visited more often, but over the past year, his visits had become less frequent. Dean had been right about Hakeem. She hadn't seen him since he was a baby before she was sentenced after her trial. She knew it was because of Lucious.

Cookie breathed in and released a deep sigh. She was between a rock and a hard place. Stay in prison for another thirteen years wasting her life away to remain loyal to an unappreciative jackass of a husband who served her with divorce papers she refused to sign while she was locked away… or at least listen to Dean about this offer and possibly get out to see her family.

Family won out.

"What is this all about and why do they need me?"

* * *

_Northwestern Memorial Hospital - Chicago, IL_

Lucious Lyon sat in the doctor's office waiting for the test results. Blood work, urine tests, MRIs, EMG testing, x-rays, even a spinal tap. They'd done so many tests to find out what was wrong. He'd been experiencing weakness in his legs and in his hands. There were times where he couldn't speak clearly. His hands would twitch uncontrollably at times. He knew deep down something was wrong. The doctors he was paying all this money to, just needed to figure it out.

The door opened and the doctor walked in, her face grim. "Mr. Lyon, we've done a number of tests and we've discovered the cause of your symptoms."

"Okay, fine. Just write up the prescription of what I need and I'll see you for follow up in a few months," Lucious replied, more than ready to leave this place.

She shook her head. "No, sir. I don't think you understand. You've got ALS."

"No, I don't." He was still very much in denial about how serious this was. There was no way he could have Lou Gehrig's Disease.

"Mr. Lyon, I understand that this news may be too overwhelming to take right now, but you have to know your options," the doctor explained.

He held up a trembling hand to quiet her. This was a death sentence. He knew he didn't truly have options. "How long I got?"

"Three years. Most likely less."

He stood to leave.

"Mr. Lyon, wait. Your options. We have to talk about what you want to do."

Once he reached the door, he turned to the doctor. "What I _want_ to do, is live a long healthy life. But you and I both know that's not an option. So what I _need_ to do, is get my house in order." He turned and walked out the office.

* * *

_Lincoln Park High School - Chicago, IL_

John walked out of the school gym after the final basketball game of his first season of coaching. They'd won the game and senior night was a success. There was a definite improvement to their win-loss record under "Coach Warren", but they still hadn't won enough games to make the playoffs. He locked up the doors behind him and made his way to the car, fighting against the brisk Chicago winds.

He briefly remembered the biting cold of New York City, but this was something different altogether. The locals here called it "the hawk". He wasn't necessarily sure how that name originated, but he never seemed to figure out how to combat the cold that cut through every single layer of clothing to send a chill deep into his bones.

He'd been living in Chicago for nearly a year since now he had been given another new identity. Samaritan had staked its claim in New York City and living in plain sight worked temporarily for a few months until Samaritan figured out what they had done and began to repair itself, one server at a time. Two of the three computer hackers Root had saved had their new identities compromised. By the time the third person was captured and killed, she was able to place four new servers inside one of the many Decima warehouses across the country.

It was a close call, but Root had changed their identities once again and each of them were relocated to a different city. Shaw was in Los Angeles, Finch was now in Boston, and ironically, Root had gone back to Texas, living in Ft. Worth.

John wondered why he hadn't been offered to relocate somewhere warm, like Miami, but he never dwelled on it for too long. Chicago was another large city where he could blend in and be just another person on the street. He tried to live as normal a life as he could without going insane. He kept in touch with Shaw and Finch, contacting them sporadically on burner phones. He never spoke to Root, and he knew that she knew where to find him if she needed to anyway.

As soon as he opened the door to his car to climb in and head "home" to his small apartment, the pay phone a few feet away began to ring. He stood there for a moment as the phone continued to ring. Was this just a coincidence? Was it just a random person dialing the wrong number? Or was it the machine? He hadn't worked a number since he left New York.

He closed the door to the car and walked over to the ringing pay phone. His hand hovered over the phone in hesitation before he finally picked up without answering. There was silence on the other end for a few seconds before he heard the eerily familiar automated voice filter through the receiver. The voice relayed numbers, letters from the phonetic alphabet table, and author's names.

He hung up the phone and walked back inside the school heading straight for the library. Someone's number was up, and it looked like the machine wanted him to get back to work.


	2. Chapter 2

_Glendale Apartments - Chicago, IL_

It was a cold, dreary Friday morning and John had gotten little sleep the night before. With a hot cup of coffee in hand, he paced his small one bedroom apartment and thought about last night's call from the machine. He had managed to get the social security number by pulling the books in the school's library using the Dewey Decimal system, but that was all he was able to obtain before the janitor walked in and asked why he was still in the school. He needed to find out who this new number was and help them, and he knew who would be the one person able to assist him. John just wasn't sure if that person would _want_ to help him.

He picked up the burner phone he was warned to only use in an emergency and powered it on. After taking a deep breath, he dialed the only number in his contacts. After several rings, a perky female voice answered the line. "Thank you for calling the Massachusetts Institute of Technology Museum. How may I direct your call?"

"Connect me to the manager of the Emerging Technologies Exhibit, please."

"No problem," said the friendly voice. "One moment."

After a few minutes of holding music, John heard the one voice he hadn't heard in almost two years. "Harold Crane speaking."

"I need your help," John answered, getting straight to business. There was no beating around the bush, but he had to be very careful of what he said and how he said it.

There was a pause on the other line, signaling recognition on the other end. "That's… not a problem, sir," Finch started, recovering from the initial shock of hearing John's voice after so long. "How may I help you?"

"Does Ernest Thornhill still work there? I was contacted by him last night and he left me a number to contact him," John explained as cryptically as he could.

"I'm sorry sir, no one by that name works in this department," Finch replied as he began to log in to his personal laptop. "What was the number that he left you?"

John rattled off the numbers of the social security number and he could hear Finch typing in the background. "So… can you help me?" he asked after another long moment of silence.

Finch had always heard the expression that everyone has a twin, but nothing could have prepared him for the face on the mug shot staring back at him. _Oh, my god. She looks just like_… He shook his head before he could finish the thought. "Are… are you… _sure_ that was the number he left you?" he inquired.

"Yes…" John answered, waiting for Finch to give him a clue about what he'd discovered on the number.

Finch couldn't take his eyes away from the picture of their new number. From the information he was able to pull up, she was a convicted felon named Cookie Lyon. She'd been arrested and charged with drug trafficking, but beyond that, she could pass for the twin sister of Detective Jocelyn Carter. He wasn't sure if John could handle this information, but he would forward it as they had agreed upon long ago for certain circumstances as this. He printed the information about her along with her pictures and prepared them to ship overnight to Chicago. Finch could only hope that this was a mistake from the machine, but he knew it was false hope.

"As I said before, no one by that name works here. However, he may have worked here before I was hired. I will follow up and have someone return your call. Thank you for calling the MIT Museum. Have a wonderful day, sir," Finch said before hanging up abruptly.

John was very put off by the abrupt send off, but he was sure that he would get what he needed the next morning by courier. Whatever it was about this number clearly had Finch shaken up, but John wouldn't press. He walked into the kitchen to pour his now cold coffee down the drain and got ready to head out to the school for his first period homeroom class.

* * *

_Glendale Apartments - Chicago, IL_

Cookie and the two federal agents accompanying her, rode in the elevator in silence as they reached the designated floor. She hadn't had much to say since leaving the prison and didn't really have much to say in the car ride over this morning. They'd filled her in once again on what they needed and how she was to provide the information. Although she loved being able to look out of the windows of the SUV they rode in and enjoy the rise of the morning sun, she was less than happy about why she was free in the first place.

Once they reached their floor, they exited the elevator and walked down the hall to what would be her temporary apartment. "This will be your apartment," Agent Davis explained as he and Agent Blake escorted Cookie inside the small one bedroom apartment on the third floor of an older building in Lincoln Park. "It's quiet here and you should feel safe."

Cookie softly chuckled. _If Lucious or any of his goons find out why I got out early, I know I won't feel safe_, she thought.

Davis continued, "You should probably get familiar with your neighbors. While we'll be keeping tabs on you, it's also best to have neighbors who'll know something's wrong if they haven't seen you.

"There's an elderly couple who lives down the hall in apartment 14. A young woman who works for the city lives across the hall. And a high school basketball coach lives next door. I believe he teaches at Lincoln Park High," Davis explained before he rattled off more information about people she couldn't give two shits about.

Cookie rolled her eyes and let out an exaggerated sigh. "Okay Davis, I got it. I'll bake some brownies and introduce myself as Cookie the coke dealing ex-con who was released because the Feds want her to rat out her husband... _ex-_husband." Even though she never signed the divorce papers, she didn't really have a leg to stand on. Her incarceration was automatic legal grounds for an at-fault divorce. She couldn't have fought for her marriage even if she tried. Lucious had left her there to rot. _Alone_.

"Ms. Lyon, I know what we're asking of you isn't easy, but I would think that this is a better option than rotting away in a jail cell," Agent Blake sneered, not caring for her attitude.

Cookie shot him a hard glare, but kept reign on her temper. As happy as she was to no longer be behind bars, she wasn't necessarily kosher with being an informant. She'd lived by the code of the streets all her life. Snitches get stitches… or worse, end up in a body bag. She didn't need to be reminded of her time in prison. She'd spent 17 years there. Blake was already on her last damn nerve.

"Fine, I'll make nice with the neighbors. Anything else?" she asked, looking between the two men.

Agent Davis was a black man that appeared to be younger than Cookie by a few years. With smooth dark skin and a brilliant smile, he was very handsome and could be incredibly charming if he put forth the effort. Being a suit was probably the best career choice for him, but she could see him doing so much more. Agent Blake was an older white man in his mid-fifties with balding, graying hair. He looked as if he only lived on coffee and cigarettes. He wasn't a looker and the age lines on his weathered face showed signs of a hard life. She wondered what he had seen or done as an FBI agent to look so worn down.

"You are to meet up with Davis every morning for briefing, and to provide any information you've learned. When you've gotten on the inside and built back that trust, you will start wearing the wire. Do you understand?" Blake asked in a no-nonsense manner.

Her full red lips had thinned into a hard line. They'd already gone over this before and she hated being spoken to as if she was an idiot. "Like I said a hundred times already, I understand." She stared Blake down and felt herself losing control, ready to shoot off at the mouth and cut him down to size.

Sensing the tension between them, Davis cut in. "Good. Here's your key, your cell phone, and your weekly stipend for food, toiletries, and other necessities. If you need anything or if you're in danger, my number is speed dial number seven. Agent Blake is speed dial nine." Davis gave her all the items she needed and headed for the door.

"I expect to see you tomorrow morning at the park a couple blocks away. I'll be waiting for you on the bleachers," Davis reminded her once more before he and Blake walked out of the apartment, softly closing the door behind them.

Cookie locked the door and leaned against it, letting out a shaky sigh. This was going to be hard and she knew that all the odds were against her. Just where in the hell would she start?

She turned to catch her reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall. She had to admit, Tammy and the girls from the cosmetology school hooked her up before she left the pen. Her hair was done, her makeup was tight, and she still managed to wear the hell out of the sexy, albeit outdated, leopard print dress that she wore going into prison seventeen years ago. She looked damn good for a woman fresh out of jail. She felt her confidence grow tenfold and knew what her first move would be.

"I gotta buy some new clothes," she said to herself aloud. "I can't roll up in there with this old ass dress."

Her first stop would be her sister Carol's house. She hoped her cash stash was still hidden in the attic. It would be what she needed to buy the clothing necessary to make one hell of an entrance at Empire. Lucious hadn't come to see her once while she was away. That motherfucker needed a reminder of what he used to have. She grabbed her keys and cell phone, tossed them in her purse, and left the apartment.

* * *

**Author's note: Sorry for the short chapter, but I'm still trying to figure out where I want to go with this story. I have a general idea, but I'm trying to get back in the groove of things. Also, this story remains unbeta'd so please excuse any errors you see. I hope I caught most of them. Thanks for reading.**

**02/27/2015 Updated Author's Note: I tweaked some things in this chapter also (I think I know what I want to to with Agent Davis now. Tee hee...). Bear with me folks, I think this story is gonna be a bumpy ride.**


End file.
